She was gone.
I started to cry silently, quietly to myself. I didn't know what to do, or whom to contact if anyone, at that hour. I just cried, my back to Hubby, as silently as possible, so as not to wake him or Petite.
I didn't sleep much after that. I just waited. And I went through oodles of tissues. I got the confirmation by e-mail from my cousin's wife first. It was a brief message of condolence at my aunt's passing during the night. I was relieved to have some confirmation of my suspicions, because by the time that e-mail arrived, I had been waiting for a number of hours.
That e-mail was quickly followed by a phone call. And then another. And then a third. I heard what I needed to hear. It was over. My cherished aunt had slipped this mortal coil. Quietly. With dignity. In the presence of her youngest sister and my father. At precisely 4:45 a.m. in Newfoundland (or 3:15 for me in Ontario), six weeks of tears and disbelief culminated in my sweet aunt's passing.
I like to think that she came to wake me, passing through to say goodbye one last time. There has been so much that occurred in the month since. I will write about it later when I can gather my thoughts. I've been scattered and I still burst into tears at the smallest things that trigger loving memories.
I refuse to say goodbye. So I will say until we meet again, Aunt B. Know how very much you are loved. And your words and actions have shown over the years how much you loved us.